Short Spy Story Contest

In the fall of 1942, I was called into the director’s office. Several men were already there. I stood at attention in front of his desk, and he motioned me to sit. The men around him looked at a folder and then looked at me repeatedly. Words like “perfect” and “uncanny” were being passed about. “He looks just like the ambassador’s son”

I was then told I was being recruited for a special assignment. I was groomed and trained for over two decades, with monthly assessments on my progress. Finally, in 1960, I was called back into the director’s office and the air was tense with excitement. Plans were being discussed as to how I would take the place of this man. Finally in 1963, as the American’s would say, we caught a break.

I was flown to America, to Texas to be exact. How hot and humid this place was compared to my beloved Russia. The switch was made at a hotel in Houston. At first I was uncertain, but not even his wife noticed any differences.

The following morning we flew to Love Field in Dallas.

“Welcome to Dallas, President Kennedy.” John Connally said as he shook my hand.

2. Earning a
KGB i.d.:

One Last Drink by Sean McCluskey

Shoving through the bar crowd, Braddock bumped a tipsy woman who spilled her drink on him. She apologized, but Braddock ignored her. He was late.

Crenshaw was in a back booth. Braddock dropped onto the vinyl bench, wiping appletini off his sleeve."Sorry," Braddock said. "My contact was late. Said he thinks their security guy's on to him."

"Won't matter after tonight," Crenshaw said. "Let me see what he gave you."

"It's taped under the table."

Braddock found the envelope. Pulled it loose; opened it. The bills were hundreds, so $10,000 would be half an inch thick. Looked right. He took a sheaf of papers from his pocket and handed them over.

"That's not the whole report," said Braddock. "You want the rest, I want more money."

Crenshaw looked up. "I don't need the rest."

Braddock frowned.

"We'd narrowed the leak down to five people," Crenshaw said. "Each one got a copy, with the authors' names in different orders."

"You're--"

"The security guy. Yes."

Braddock reached under his coat. "Now what? You kill me?"

"No, said Crenshaw. "The girl at the bar already did. Transdermal toxin. It won't hurt."

And it didn't.

3. A copy of the forthcoming 7 Grams of Lead to:

Old School by Jennifer Deitz Weingardt

Hank adjusted his bifocals as he leaned forward to check his information on the retirement class form. He sighed as he released the paper and pulled it out. He flipped the switch off and the whirling stopped. He heard snickering nearby. He didn’t care. He didn’t trust the computer at his desk. Anyone could download his personal information. It was just too vulnerable. He even squirreled away hard copies of everything in case the whole system crashed.

He knew retirement was near. The front office already had plans to phase him out. Last month, they assigned a twenty-something to shadow him. It took him over 30 years to become an expert. Years spent debriefing sources in hotel rooms, advising U.S. military planners on operations, visiting countless U.S. embassies around the world, attending numerous intelligence exchanges with his foreign counterparts. How could all of that be summed up for someone so young and inexperienced?

Hank hand-carried the form to the front office and placed it right side down on the training officer’s desk. He glanced at a newspaper lying next to it and smiled when he saw the headline “Russians Buy Electronic Typewriters in Response to Recent U.S. Surveillance Efforts.”